Friday, September 9, 2011

The Ali Baba Dream and Elaine and Scott

The Ali Baba Dream, as it was known in a small circle of
former friends, convinced me that even though people were not responsible for
what they dreamed they were shunned by those they repeated the dream to, even
if those people harangued the dreamer into relating the dream. I have a filter
now and the filter screens out a lot of sexual energy that I am almost certain
occurs in the dreams of people who remember, or who do not remember, what their
subconscious is dreaming up for them, no pun intended.

Decades ago I started making an effort to remember and on
occasion write down my dreams and as a result I remember them vividly, and
sometimes too much so. There is this deep and well meaning suspicion in my mind
that I’m in some way sabotaging the purpose of dreams by remembering them, by
making them a part of the waking life they were not intended to be. I suspect I
make things worse by examining even the small ones for some intention. Considering
the number of people who swear they remember nothing about their dreams and in
this population there seems to be an overwhelming amount of normality, the
conclusion that remembering dreams feeds the fire, or the fire feeds
remembering the dreams, is a solid one. If you haven’t a clue as to what I just
said, move along, please, this is going to get a lot worse before it gets
better, I tell you.

Still with me? That’s a good thing, or not, depending on
why you’re still reading this. But think about the consequences of allowing
someone to communicate with you who you may or may not know very well. You mind
is a lot like that sometimes. Do you really know what that last dream meant? A
friend of mine kept having sex dreams involving her female roommate and both
were, ostensibly, straight. She had the same dream four or five times and was
appalled each time. Of course this was an odd situation because throughout her life
she had nearly always had a best friend who was much better looking than she
was. The sidekick to the hot woman having sex dreams about women… go figure.

That’s just surface tension when it gets down to it, and
all know it. The mistake, I think, is to try to rationalize sleeping brain
activity in the same manner that you rationalize thought when you’re driving a
car. If you pull into a strip joint on your way home, yes, there are some
implications to your actions that are totally unavoidable. Clearly, you have
some issue with expectations versus reality, but that’s beside the point. If
you dream about strippers then that’s a totally different situation entirely,
and regardless of where you stand on pole dancing, your dreams rarely reflect
your honest opinion on pasties. Well, I do in fact suspect that your dreams do
indeed reflect how you feel about something things, like spiders, snakes,
falling, fire, bears, and when it comes to sex, if you’re dreaming about
someone you know and love, it may be exactly what it seems to be. But which is
which and when?

Suppose whatever popped into your head came out of your
mouth. If just one person lacked a social filter then they would be considered
insane but if everyone was like this then what do you suppose would happen? Either
people would get used to hearing, “Yes, by dog! That dress
makes your bottom look like the back of a bus draped in cloth!” or they
would learn to stop asking. But we all know a woman asking if a dress
makes her look fat isn’t asking about the dress or her weight but some sort of
reassurance the person being asked likes the way she
looks in the dress or in general. If you’re watching a movie with a woman
on your sofa and you suggest wine, and she accepts, both of you knows alcohol
lowers inhibition. Now here’s an interesting question; how many of you (
those who are still with me , that is) how often is
kissing discussed before it happens? The wine kicks in, a bathroom break
is need, the DVD player is paused, she goes to the bathroom, the man in
question pours more wine, has an inner debate as if the time is right, gets
nervous, she returns, and they kiss. She might go into
the bathroom wonder when he’s going to make that first move, how further he
might push it, how far she’ll allow considering she would really like to stick
around for breakfast, but doesn’t want him to think she’s easy. All of this
might be discussed quite easily but when it gets right down to it, to quote
Sarah McLaughlin, we are fumbling towards ecstasy. So the man and woman
on the sofa kiss, kiss some more, she gently refuses his advances, he retreats
to a safe point but she playfully accepts his banter and the evening ends with
both parties wishing for more but with her going home before she’s gets too
intoxicated. They meet again and things get serious yet it’s the third date
when the clothes fly away like migratory fowl heeding some inner
call at the right season. We couch our desires of other people’s actions in
different ways as to express a desire for a certain behavior without expressing
those desires outright. In a sense, our
ritualistic behavior has become nearly subconscious in nature. We cannot hope
to understand our dreams and what our minds do when we are asleep when we
barely recognize what we are saying and doing when we are awake.

All of
what you’ve read so far comes from an American, and a Southerner, and a man. I
am also left handed, love canines, and dislike country music. What I have
written is tainted, or enhanced, by who I am and what I am. You may disagree
with me, agree with me, think
I’m the next Plato or suspect I’ve been smoking meth, but my opinion and your
opinion on my opinion, has very little to do with what is true and what isn’t,
or what is factual and what isn’t, but rather emotional responses to one
another. The fictional man and woman on the sofa stealing glances at one
another until their eyes meet and they move closer to one another or hold
hands, are becoming intimate in a way that you and I are sharing at this very
moment. And just like
those two, either you are liking what you’re seeing, or you’re wondering when
the hell I’ll finally shut up. Either way, it’s a form of communication and if
you’ll think about everything I have written so far, you’ll understand you and I
are using this medium as a form of communication that is not totally unlike how
we communicate with ourselves when we dream. Emotion, imagery, and at times,
some disjointed and disconnected seemingly random brain energy that may or may
not have some meaning, yes, all of it is here!

So
Elaine and Scott, the man and woman who were drinking wine on the sofa wake up
in the morning to discover they are lovers. A thousand different control knobs
are waiting to be turned. Did they use some sort of birth control? Is there a
beautiful sunrise? Is either hungover? Are there any potentially embarrassing marks
on her neck? Did Scott snore loudly? Or was the night everything they both
hoped and yearned for in every way? Will they awake with an afterglow that
warms them both for the rest of their lives? Will the neighbors, who are goodly
distance away, be talking about that night for a while? Alas! This is not a
dream, yet it is fiction, and the story of Elaine and Scott comes to an end,
now. Do you have in your mind some pleasant ending for them, replete with
golden sunsets and grandchildren, or did you lose it with the snoring thing? Everything
you feel for them is in fact a daydream, and I wonder how much control we have
there as well.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Facebook Badge

Donate To The Dogfood Fund

About Me

The Non Disclaimer

My writing reflects the things I see, think, and experience, and those things in my past that have led me to be me. It is not always pretty, it is not always funny, and no one has ever made mention of my life as a Disney Movie. If sex, drugs, profanity, or a general irreverence for all things religious somehow offends you, well, there are other blogs which will satisfy your need for self assurance.